


The last chocolate cookie

by Morethancupcake



Series: Chocolate cookies and such [1]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Domestic Fluff, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3594657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morethancupcake/pseuds/Morethancupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"His name is Connor, and Oliver walks with him until he reaches his building. Connor winks at him, puts the collar of his coat to his face, and runs away to the Starbucks down the corner."</p><p>Oliver falls for the handsome guy he keeps seeing everywhere. And it all starts from there.</p><p>art from the wonderful linneart linked in the notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The last chocolate cookie

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt I got : "I thought you were dead"
> 
> art here : http://linneart.tumblr.com/post/114348765495

He's tired, and all he wants right now is to hurry home and sleep. The rain is pouring, making a blurry wall in front of him, and he's actually considering staying in the metro station, because it's either staying there cold and tired, or runing with his umbrella and getting wet anyway, and he's too tired to think about the best option.

"If I tell you I've been looking at you since we got out of the train, will you offer me a ride under that umbrella ?"

 

He's handsome, and cocky, and halfway to his destination, he changes his mind and let a piece of paper with a name and an adress fall onto the wet pavement.

His name is Connor, and Oliver walks with him until he reaches his building. Connor winks at him, puts the collar of his coat to his face, and runs away to the Starbucks down the corner.

He dreams about that wink and the taste of coffee when he falls asleep on his couch, too tired to make it to his bed.

 

They're late, and the whole department is on edge. They had a severe breach of confidentiality, probably because of their obsolete security system, and Oliver has to stay the night to work on it. When he finally manages to leave, it's almost eleven, and he yawns in the elevator, thinking about a night of take away and mindless TV programs.

"We have to stop meeting like this, you know ?"

Connor smiles at him. He looks tired, too, and he has files under his arms. His jacket rumpled, and there's ink on his shirt. 

They eat in a little Italian restaurant, the place packed with people eating steaming plates of pasta in heavy sauces. 

Connor says his name for the first time, and it makes him feel something he shouldn't feel, he thinks.

 

They eat together, sometimes. Often. They have lunch in that horrible burger joint everyone in their building seem to love. They go back to the italian place, and Oliver messes his shirt sleeve with marinara sauce. Sometimes they work together, in the afternoon, when they need time out of the building. Oliver on his computer, always picking the place closer to the window, and drinking cold tea. Connor, colonizing a whole table with his papers and files and researches. Drinking coffee until he can't sit still, and has to run away to a life full of phonecalls and meetings.

"See you tomorrow, Ollie." he says when leaving, always with the wink.

A few weeks later, he kisses him on the cheek.

After that, they usually work at Oliver's place, Connor invading the kitchen table. 

They kiss. It should be a big deal, it kind of is, but Oliver has to rush back to care care of a little crisis, and Connor promises to take care of dinner, and it kind of happens.

It should be a big deal,it is, but Connor looks exactly the same in the kitchen when he's back, working his way through his new case while drinking warm milk, pointing at the bags of Indian take-away on the counter and absently smiling when Oliver kisses the top of his head.

 

Months pass. Connor gets his own drawer, and more importantly his share of the bathroom's cabinet. He fights over fridge privilege, and he wins the one about closet space.

In the end, they both agree on a Sunday afternoon Ikea shopping on the couch, and the sex afterwards is even more amazing than usual.

"So are we like, living together now ?" Connor doesn't smirk anymore, he doesn't wink that much either. He puts his head on Oliver's shoulder and kisses his collarbone.

"You need to leave your studio and pay half of the rent for it to happen." 

"Consider it done. Hey, do we still have marshmallow ? I kind of want to make smores."

 

Two more months, and Connor is putting his name on the mailbox. There's now a giant jar of Nutella in the kitchen, and Oliver knows he has to wake up an hour earlier if he wants to be on time at work. And it pains him to admit it has more to do with Connor's skincare routine than their sex life.

While they're on that subject, their neighbours aren't exactly happy with them.

 

They don't fight much. Sometimes, it's inevitable, they get mad, slam cupboards and angrily chew food at each other. It's nothing like their first few fights, nothing like the night Connor told him they were never exclusive, or the day he found Oliver having breakfast with his ex. Now their fights are so silly it's almost amusing. The last one had been about a cookie. About the last chocolate cookie. 

"If you eat that cookie, I swear to God Ollie, you're dead to me." 

They had glared at each other for a minute, and then Oliver had eaten the damn thing. Wasn't even that good, too dark and bitter, nothing like the usual kind he usually loved. 

"Fine, then ! Have it your way !" 

If Oliver was the master at agressively chewing food, Connor had brought storming off the appartment to an art. Later, he had been working on a report, when Connor had passed the door, looking contrite and a little scared, almost. 

"I thought you were dead. Or I was."

"I might've overreacted." 

"You might ?"

"I bought you lemon cookies. Your favorite."

"There's another box of chocolate cookies on the counter."

The make-up sex was hot. Really, really hot.

 

Living with Connor was simple, it was easy. He used to believe relationships were hard, difficult to maintain. He used to believe he would end up alone, because he was so hard to love. But at the end of the day, every day, Connor comes back to him. Connor, beautiful and young, and so smart, just toes off his shoes, gets rid of his jacket and comes to get a kiss. 

He catches a cold, spending too much time under the AC at the office, and Connor goes all the way to chinatown to get him the soup his grandmother used to make. He doesn't frown in disgust when he has to get rid of the sea of tissues in their room, and he sleeps on the couch, checking on him several times during the night. 

Oliver takes care of him after the food poisoning incident, and Connor makes him swear he'll never, ever mentioned any of this for the rest of their life together. He's sad and pathetic, curled up in a ball of pain on the bathroom floor, and so sure Oliver is going to laugh at him it puts something on Ollie's chest. Affection, tenderness and... yes. Love. Love.

He whispers it to Connor every night, fingers running down his back. It takes him a while to realize Connor is whispering it back. 

 

Years pass. They go to fancy holidays, and spend Christmas cuddling on the couch. They meet the parents, and try not to break-up and run on the way home. Oliver wakes up one day, with an horrible hangover and blonde hair. He wishes he could complain, but Connor is still snoring on the bed, and he's sporting the most hideous mustache known to mankind. 

One day, he buys a ring. It's nothing fancy, but it's simple, and something he hopes Connor would like. He puts it with his cables and back-up hard drives, sure Connor would never go to that drawer willingly. He looks at it sometimes. He wonders if he'll be brave enough to ask. What they have now is good, it's amazing. He shouldn't be too greedy, it's more than what he deserves.

He gets home one day, late, very late, ad he's tired. Being now manager means he has to deal with discipliary, and HR, and it's time-consuming and exhausting. He flops on the couch, and swears he'll never ever move again. And then he spots the box, on the coffee table. It's so terrifying he has to remember to breathe. The box is on the middle of the table, next to another box. A similar box. It could be a ring, but it could be a lot of things. Cufflinks. A pendant. Anything really.

Connor moves next to him, he puts a glass of something looking suspicously like champagne on the table, and he looks at him with a smile. He smirks and says "If I tell you I've been hiding this behind my hair products for a month, will you ask me tonight ?"

Two days later, they're still riding the just engaged high, and Oliver's back still doesn't feel the same after that night, Connor storms off because apparently Oliver ate the last chocolate cookie, again. 

He smiles and takes his keys, whistling while walking to the bakery next door. Connor is in line, a box of lemon cookies in hand. 

They possibly have sex in the alley, the cookies forgotten in a bag at their feet. No one has to know.

**Author's Note:**

> You can read it on tumblr if you want : http://iwanttopizzamanyou.tumblr.com/post/114341747019/the-last-chocolate-cookie
> 
> Kudos, messages, comments and reblogs are warm goey brownies to the soul. 
> 
> Thank you for the prompt !


End file.
